


Our Boy Morse

by GillianInOz



Series: Endeavour Thursday [4]
Category: Endeavour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Catching up with the Thursday family.





	Our Boy Morse

“I appreciate your support in this, Chief Superintendent,” Councilman Sowerby said, slipping the folder back inside and buckling his leather case. “And you of course, Inspector Thursday.” He stood, then tilted his head, craning to see a photo on Thursday’s desk. “May I?” he asked as he picked up the framed picture. 

“My son,” Thursday said proudly. 

“Your son is a Teddy?” Sowerby said, barely managing to suppress his incredulity. He studied the smiling, russet haired boy in the photograph, proudly posing in his uniform jacket emblazoned with the St Edwards school crest. “Scholarship boy?”

Thursday nodded amiably, not resenting the implication that he couldn’t afford the fees for such a prestigious school, even on an inspector’s salary. In truth he would proudly tell anyone who asked that his boy had earned a place at St Edward’s, not bought it.

“He’s the youngest student ever accepted on an academic scholarship,” Thursday said. “And he broke records with his score.”

“Well well well,” Sowerby said thoughtfully, glancing at the Chief Super who was also looking proud. Thursday was popular at Cowley station, and his friends were glad for him that his boy was such a shining academic star. Half the nick had turned out for the school’s last open day, and been awed to meet the historic school’s past alumni, many of them famed war heroes. 

“I’m an Old St Edward’s Boy myself,” Sowerby said, puffing out his chest. “And a finer school can’t be found in England, I dare say.” He looked Thursday up and down as if reevaluating him. “I expect he’s destined for great things.”

Thursday just smiled and nodded, taking the picture back and setting it in pride of place on his desk, next to the studio portrait of Win and the littlies they’d had done the Christmas before Morse arrived. He made a mental note to arrange another sitting, with all three of the children.

“I say, Thursday,” Sowerby said, suddenly much more friendly. “Would you care to join the Chief Super and myself at my club for a spot of lunch? I’m always happy to encourage the young up and comers on the force, and I think you might have a bright future ahead of you in Oxford as well, what?”

Hiding his surprise, Thursday glanced at his boss, not wanting to tread on any toes, but Chief Superintendent Oxley was nodding thoughtfully. “Good idea,” he said. “We can finish the discussion about the security details regarding the Royal Visit.”

“And you can tell me all about this marvellous lad of yours,” Sowerby said.

“Thank you, sir,” Thursday said, although he’d much rather sit in the pub with his cheese and pickle sandwich. “I’d be happy to.”

888

“So, having a son who’s a Teddy might be good for my career,” Fred said, helping himself to some more sprouts.

“You’ll be a Chief Inspector before you’re forty at this rate,” Win said, cutting up Sam’s meatloaf into manageable chunks. 

“And Morse will be dean of one of the great colleges,” Thursday teased. 

I’m going to be a policeman like Daddy,” Joan announced. Thursday exchanged a smiling glance with his wife.

“What about you, Sammy?” Morse asked, slicing his own meatloaf into manageable bites. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A race car,” Sam said firmly. “Or a puppy dog.”

“You can’t be a car,” Joan said, then glared when her parents and her big brother laughed. “Well he can’t,” she insisted. “Or a puppy dog.”

“Can we get a puppy dog?” Sam said slyly and Joan immediately lost her bad tempered scowl. “Oh, yes please, Daddy. Can we get a puppy?”

Thursday shook his head. “Ambushed,” he said wryly. “You’re as clever as your big brother,” he said ruffling Sam’s coal black hair.

“He can already speak some Latin,” Morse said proudly. “Go on, Sammy. Remember the last one we learned?”

Sam clambered to stand on his chair and Morse put a steadying hand on his back. “ _Abundans cautela non nocet_ ,” Sam declaimed dramatically. 

“Amazing,” his parents said, clapping as he happily sat back down. “What does it mean?”

“One can never be too careful,” Sam said. “Morse learned me it when I broke his pen.”

“I fixed it,” Morse said hurriedly. “And he promised never to do it again, didn’t you, Sammy? Also it’s not ‘learned’, it’s ‘taught’. I taught you how to say it.”

“Yes, Morse,” Sam said, tucking back into his dinner. Stubborn, pig headed and wilful the youngest Thursday could be, but he adored his big brother and always minded what he said.

“Good boy,” Morse praised, and once more Fred and Win exchanged smiling looks over the children’s heads.

888

“Our Sam learning Latin,” Fred chuckled later as he dried the dishes. The littlies were abed and Morse was sitting at the dining room table, his homework books spread out around him. Music sounded softly from the portable radio Win and Fred had gifted him with for his birthday. A woman’s voice, soaring out of the tinny speakers in Italian and Fred could pick out an occasional word recalled from long ago days in the war. Love. Desire. Death. Typical opera he thought, pushing sad memories away.

“He adores Morse,” Win said, wiping her hands and stacking the dried dishes. “And Morse is endlessly patient with him.”

“He’s a good fit,” Fred said in satisfaction, filling the kettle and flicking on the stove. “I know it’s a tight squeeze with all of us here in this small house.”

“We’re managing,” Win said firmly. 

“We are,” Fred agreed. “And that’s down to you, love. You make our house a home, and you welcomed my boy into it.”

“He’s our boy now,” Win said, putting a packet of digestives on a tray with the teapot, cups and a glass of milk. “Take that through, I’ll stir our boy from his studies.”

Fred carried the tray through and laid out their last cuppa of the day, placing two biscuits next to Morse’s glass of milk. Then he sat back with a sigh at the sound of his wife chatting with his son, and the sight of them in the doorway, Win’s arm around Morse’s shoulder, his bright, smiling face turned up to hers as he relayed some story of his day.

The past was the past, for all of them. But for right now Fred knew himself to be the luckiest man in England.


End file.
